


getting it out

by fobhowell



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, bandmember!phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fobhowell/pseuds/fobhowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>phil likes music. everyone knows this because he’s in a band. phil also likes dan. maybe it’s about time he finally says that out loud too. (based off the song 'getting it out' by mcbusted)</p>
            </blockquote>





	getting it out

The familiar drive to the Howells’ residence seemed longer than usual, and Phil’s mind was so preoccupied that he barely paid attention to the roads ahead. His fingers tapped a beat impatiently against the calloused steering wheel of the car as he waited at the currently red traffic lights. He wished the lights would hurry up already because if he thought too much about what he was about to do he would probably back out. He couldn’t afford to not go through with this. He needed to get the words out of his system  before he lost yet another nights sleep over three fucking words. They’d even managed to arrange themselves into a song, scribbled across sheets of paper, in the early breath of morning. Some people turn to painting or therapists to sift through the constant flickering of polluted thoughts. Phil turns to writing songs. The rest of the band never fully capture the undertones of the clouded thoughts, but Phil doesn’t expect them to.

The words had burned themselves on the tip of his tongue, blocked only by his firmly locked jaw and the fog of doubt clouding his mind. He remembers how they’d started off small and unsure, little more than a quiet whisper in the back of his mind. But that was days, weeks, months, perhaps even years ago. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore them now. With every inhale his mind would screech at him and with every exhale the words threatened to make their escape from the prison of his lips. They bounced back and forth, echoing and echoing and echoing and _for fuck’s sake_ Phil had had enough. The lights turned green.

His mind was working on auto-pilot as he pulled up next to the driveway of his best friend’s house. With shaking hands he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car. He walked along the path leading up to the house and bent down to pick up a small rock which he threw at the right hand side window on the second floor, much like he’d probably done about fifty thousand times before. The next part, not so much.

Saying a silent prayer in hopes that he had managed to get his friend’s attention without damaging the window, he scurried back to the car and to the passenger side so that he could retrieve his guitar from where he’d carefully secured it to the seat. He leaned into the car and fumbled with the correct wire in order to plug it into an amp which had seen better days. He hoisted himself onto the bonnet of the car and with the frightful image of  falling onto his face in his head, he stood up on slightly shaking legs. He strummed a chord. A familiar face appeared at the window.

“Phil? What on earth are you doing?” The words were accompanied by a gaze that was a little panicked and a lot perplexed. Phil doesn’t reply, just presses his fingers against the strings and prepares himself both physically and mentally for what he’s about to do. He thanks muscle memory for allowing his fingers to move from position to position with minimal thought required from him, as he begins to play the chords and the words move closer to the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth and the words which had been imprisoned for so long skydive from his lips.

The words and guitar may drown out his thoughts but Phil can still hear his heartbeat in his chest and his ear and his throat, and it’s like he can’t escape the constant thud of it whenever he so much as looks at the brown haired boy currently staring down at him from his bedroom window. He keeps playing, even as the sky above him opens up and allows for drops of water to start falling down on his head. Perhaps he should have played closer attention to the weather forecast or at least looked up at the sky once or twice and planned accordingly. At any rate it’s too late now and he continues playing, hoping the words will convey the message he wants them to.

Soon the rain is pouring down overhead and his black hair is clinging to his forehead dripping water down his face, but Phil plays on. A few of the neighbours have opened their doors and are huddled in their doorways glaring disdainfully at the source of ‘this terrible racket’ but Phil can’t hear the profanities they yell at him because his mind is focused on what he’s doing and also on the boy at the window. The boy who now seems to be leaving.

As the window is shut and the space behind it becomes empty, the music cuts off. _Fuck._ He vaults himself off the car and works on leaving as quickly as possible before he has to face the obvious rejection that will be coming from Dan.   _Of course Dan would never like him what the fuck was he thinking coming here without notice and confessing his feelings to the whole neighbourhood what the fuck?_  He packs up his guitar at lightning speed, thankful for the practice of doing this that he’d received from the many gigs he and his band had played. He reached his arm down for the handle to open the door so that he could step in and make his escape, but was pulled back by a slightly smaller tanned hand grasping his own. He turned around only to be pushed against the side of the car as the body leading up from the hand slammed into him, wrapping him in a hug.

The words,  “You’re such a bloody idiot,” are breathed into the curve of his neck as two arms draw him closer. After many moments of  standing there as the sky continues to pour down, they pull apart and look at each other. Phil breaks the silence first. “Um.. what does this mean then?   For like… us?”

“Well for one, you’re a dork.” Dan chuckles before continuing in a slightly more nervous tone. “But um.. If you meant what I  think  you mean in that song um… I like you too? Like…  a lot.” He probably would have said more but his rambling comes to an abrupt stop when he feels Phil’s fingers stroke along his cheek and entwine in a lock of his curling hair. Dan scoffs and is about to reprimand the rain on what moisture does to his hair when Phil places a finger over his lips. He pulls his finger away but keeps his gaze lingering on Dan’s mouth, raising an eyebrow as means of asking for permission. When Dan nods, Phil moves forward with an experimental brushing of lips. Their next kiss lingers for slightly longer but remains shy and questioning. Then as if both their resolves shatter, they surge forward.

There’s a flurry of hands begging for contact and pulling at hair and hurriedly sliding down waists as they kiss, all the while pulling each other closer. Dan pushes lightly at Phil’s chest and stops kissing him for long enough to pant against his lips.  

“Can we please continue this..  somewhere drier than in the middle of a fucking rainstorm?”

“Are you worried you’re getting too wet?” The words were delivered with a wink and a laugh hidden behind Phil’s palm.

“Shut up!” Dan groans as he shoves Phil away, even though he too is laughing.  

“Well, there’s a car right here if you’re looking for somewhere dry?”

It doesn’t take more than a light tug on his hand to convince Dan to step inside the vehicle.


End file.
